


Unrequited

by UndreamedMist



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, F/M, Feels, Frottage, John is not available to Sherlock for some reason, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Narrator could be Molly Hooper (if you want), Neck Kissing, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12428082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndreamedMist/pseuds/UndreamedMist
Summary: An unexpected late night visitor. Smut plus feels.





	Unrequited

**Author's Note:**

> I am not usually a writer, but this popped into my head and would not leave until written. This is my first fic, so be kind! I am nervous to share.

I am awoken by the sound of gentle footsteps approaching my bed. I turn sleep bleary eyes toward the sound, and see the unmistakable shadow of unruly curls on the head of my visitor. Sherlock? What would he be doing in my bedroom at this time of night?

I open my mouth as I try, unsuccessfully, to find something to say. As he approaches my bed, I turn so I am laying on my back, head turned slightly to look at him. He gently lifts the covers, sliding in beside me, then pulling himself up to hover above me, hands on either side of my head and his long legs bracketing one of mine.

I carefully avoid eye contact, afraid of what I might see there. I take a breath, ready to ask him what the hell is going on, but before I can say anything, his lips are on mine, and I cannot help but return the kiss. I have wanted this for so long, but knew without a doubt that it was never possible. But here he was, in my bed, in the middle of the night, kissing me so intensely I forget everything else.

His tongue probes at my lips, which open for him, welcoming him in. As our tongues tangle together, I reach my hand up to caress the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He breaks off the kiss to move to my neck, kissing his way down to the junction of neck and shoulder, where I am most sensitive and any touch of lips leaves me panting and dripping with need. He bites down gently on that spot, causing me to buck up my hips, searching for more contact. I am rewarded by the feeling of a rock hard cock pressing against my pelvic bone. I am momentarily confused by the fact that he is already naked (he came into my bedroom in the middle of the night naked?), but my increasing desire for him pools deep in my core and clouds my mind until there is nothing but the delicious sensation of his velvety cock rubbing against me, the incredible taste of his lips on mine and the shivering, uncontrollable need that comes with every little bite to my neck. I am so lost in sensation, that I almost don’t notice it when he moans, “John…”

I freeze. I am not John! Has Sherlock even noticed my distinct lack of a penis? What is going on? But these thoughts are fleeting as I am again consumed with the smell, taste and feel of Sherlock. Fuck. “You’ll never get this opportunity again,” whispers a little voice in my head. Another part of me thinks, “Maybe you should stop this before it goes any further.” But my own folds, just inches from his magnificent cock, are wet and wanting, and I cannot help myself.

I reach my hand down between his stomach and cock, and gently press his amazing erection down into my pelvic bone. I want him to rut against the hardness there, as if it were a cock (John’s cock) rubbing against his own. Sherlock gasps at the contact, and begins shamelessly pumping his hips, desperate for the friction. Sherlock pants out, “John… John, God your penis next mine feels so good… Ohhhhh” and then he muffles his cries in my neck, biting down, and causing my body to shudder helplessly with pleasure. I feel the warm wetness of Sherlock’s seed coating my thigh and stomach. He shakily continues to hold himself up on his arms, slowly regaining his breath. He rolls off of the bed and pads softly out of the room without a word or second glance.

As I watch him walk away, the aching emptiness between my thighs pulses with need. But what is worse, is the aching emptiness in my heart, where I know that he does not and never will love me the way I love him. I roll over onto my side and wrap my arms around bent knees. Sherlock’s spent seed smearing onto the bedspread and my side. I ignore it and lay awake, trying not to think about what just happened. Have I brought some release to two people who can never have their hearts desire? Or have I made an already giant mess of feelings more complex? I sigh, feeling the first pricks of tears in my eyes.


End file.
